Frieda Hughes, a writer and painter who is the daughter of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, settled in rural Wales after years in Australia. With seven children’s books and eight poetry volumes to her name, she has recently released George: A Magpie Memoir, a diary narrated entirely in English that reflects on how a magpie named George changed her life. He transformed her home into a haven for rescued animals, hosting thirteen owls, a weasel, a spotted snake, two huskies, and five ferrets. Her father passed away from cancer in 1998, and a decade later her brother Nicholas Hughes took his own life, following the path her mother had walked. In response to grief, Hughes trained as a therapist, offering counseling at a mental health center and guiding adolescents at an institution, channeling personal loss into a life dedicated to helping others.
Can love for an animal like a magpie shift a life as profoundly as love for a human?
She explains that her affection is complex and rooted in deep care for all living beings. Her response reflects a broad compassion for animals, birds, and people alike, and acknowledges that one can form strong connections with both animals and humans in different ways.
George arrived at a moment of rooting, as Hughes had returned to Great Britain after years in Australia and settled into a cottage in Wales that she believed would be her final home. Is everything truly relevant in that sense?
She affirms that the time with George was meaningful, even though the bird could not remain. George taught a valuable lesson: loving someone sometimes means letting them go. Relationships may wane, or life may end, and even if George left, the experience had a favorable ending because it shaped how she views attachment and freedom.
Another companion was a raven named Oscar. How did Oscar’s passing affect her?
Oscar’s decline was brief, and he died after a 49-day period under her care. His death rekindled memories of George and echoed losses within her family. Hughes notes that sometimes the public grieving for famous figures can mask personal sorrow, but those emotions can still catalyze important reflections.
In her writings, she recalls a backdrop of continual change following the suicides of Sylvia Plath and the challenges her father faced in finding stability. How did this lack of stability influence her growth?
Growing up, she developed resilience. She learned early how to build a sense of sanctuary from almost nothing, while simultaneously desiring a steady place to call home. She learned to be comfortable alone and then to make friends who would take her into new experiences, capturing both the need for rootedness and the adaptability required by constant movement.
The ability to adapt remains a strength in today’s world.
She recalls a supervisor who taught that change is the only constant, a perspective that can induce fear but ultimately proves liberating. The idea of a life with predictable, decades-long stability can feel suffocating, whereas adaptability opens space for growth.
Her childhood included many moves, and at age thirteen she faced twelve different schools. Was that too much change for a young person?
She found stability by attending a part-time boarding school from eleven to thirteen and then staying at one school from thirteen to eighteen. This period offered a sense of security, and she emphasizes that for parents the core message is simple: love your child and ensure they feel connected, no matter the circumstances.
Photographs show a family marked by artistry and memory, echoing the connection between creative life and personal history.
Did Ted Hughes, in his early years, feel a persistent urge to move to escape past experiences?
That seems plausible. The push for happiness and a sense of place can be a lifelong quest for both parents and children. For Hughes, displacement gave way to a deeper empathy for vulnerable creatures, which fuels Hughes’s desire to rescue and care for them.
Some may call it a maternal instinct, and she confirms a protective impulse toward creatures that cannot speak for themselves. When a wild animal is injured, there is a chance to save it, and the act holds moral weight.
Her father was sometimes criticized for his handling of a family tragedy, and she has spoken about sensitive reactions to feminists and public commentary. Does she still view those disputes as relevant?
She says she no longer focuses on those external judgments. The aim has always been for her family to live with freedom and dignity, and she respects the efforts her father made to protect his children from harm. She remains grateful for his choices, recognizing that different generations bear different burdens, and that she honors her relatives by striving to live with integrity.
In 2021, personal items belonging to her parents were auctioned at Sotheby’s as she built a new phase of life. Was selling these possessions necessary to move forward?
Yes. The process helped her launch new work and workshops, even as it required time to decide what to keep or let go. The act of releasing possessions allowed memory to endure in a different form, and she found relief in knowing that others could carry the memory forward. The choice to part with wedding rings amid the cataloging was especially poignant, a reminder that the memory of a family can live on through others without the original objects themselves defining its future.
How does it feel to be the last surviving member of the family?
It is daunting. The responsibility to live well, to honor those loved ones by becoming the best version of oneself, weighs heavily. She is determined to keep painting and writing, keeping the family legacy alive through creative work rather than through possessions alone.
She recalls a moment when her father’s feelings about a film centered on Sylvia Plath’s life contrasted with her own experiences. Despite a complicated relationship with the project, she has found other representations of her mother that feel more authentic. Even as moments of humor arise—such as a plane encounter with a fan who reminded her of Sylvia—the underlying narrative remains powerful, tracing the enduring influence of family history on her art.